Richard More lifted her to her feet.
“Come!” he said.
They passed out of the grove where the sedan chairs waited them. The bearers prone on their faces on the ground uttered low words that rose in a kind of chant and ended in the long indrawn note of awe.
Kou Ying alone stood erect.
He held out his hand to the blue-robed figure and escorted it to the sedan chair and seated it with grave care.
Richard More took his place in the chair beside her.
“We return by the lower route,” said Kou Ying.
He spoke a sharp word to the bearers. They sprang to their feet and touched the handles of the chairs.
“Keep to the lower hill by the spur,” he commanded.
The procession moved toward the low hill that edged the plain. And as they made their way up the long slope at an easy trot Richard More’s eyes rested on his wife.